


It's Like a Dark Paradise

by Maxumsurprise



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Au where they met in highschool, Bullying, Don't drive drunk kids that's a bad idea, Drug Use, Drunk Driving, Edd has a passion for movies, Flashbacks, Flashbacks to Highschool, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how high school works in the UK, Lana Del Rey is mentioned a lot, M/M, Matt rides horses, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Post The End, Probably ooc, Refrences to music, Ringo is too good for this world, Sad ending I'm warning you now, Shy Tord, So is Matt, Someone gets hit by a car, Switching times, This is very depressing, Tom is a bad child, Tom smokes pot, Tord plays an instrument, Underage Drinking, Written in 2nd person, a lot of headcanons, i love to suffer, light gore, switching POVs, tom is a punk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9598301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxumsurprise/pseuds/Maxumsurprise
Summary: Out of all the things that could happen to you, you would never have expecting hiding your worst enemy in your apartment to be one of them.





	1. Toms pov

You had made bad decisions in the past, like the time you smoked pot in your backyard, or when you let Edd’s cat outside, knowing he should stay in. But this one, the one you would make in a drunken haze, would prove to be the worst of all.  
It started in high school. Specifically, it, whatever it was, started when Tord Larsinn accidently walked into your history class in junior year. You remember it clear as day. The teacher was droning on about the battle of Stalingrad, and you were thinking about sneaking out to vape next period. You were an awful child with bad habits, but that was besides the point. That’s when the new kid stepped into the doorway, and looked around, confused.  
He being a scrawny kid in a black sweatshirt with hair that stuck up ridiculously high.  
“Is this,” he looked down at the paper in his hand, “algebra?” Someone laughed, and you couldn’t guess if it was because of his heavy accent or mixing up his classes.  
“No,” the teacher responded, looking annoyed. “What does it say on your schedule, young man?”  
The kid glanced down again, face reddening. A few other students were snickering at this point, you included. What a dumbass.  
“Can’t you read?” Mark yelled from the back of the class. God, you hated him. You hated everyone at this point.  
“Enough!” The teacher snapped, staring the blond down. “I’m going to need someone to show this boy to his class.” No one volunteered. You doodled on your paper.  
“Tom?” He prompted, jolting you out of your daydream. “Will you please help Mr-” “Larsinn.” “Larsinn find his class?” No, you thought, knowing you couldn’t protest as you stood up anyway.  
You walked up to the kid and grabbed his paper, startling him in the process. His eyes, you noticed, were pale gray. “This says you should be in room 302,” you told him. “That’s the hallway over.”  
He mumbled something you couldn’t make out. “What?” you asked.  
“Just show him there,” the teacher sighed, sounding defeated. You stepped out the room with the kid in tow. At least you got out of class for a while. If you had to hear one more thing about World War 2, you would go crazy.  
“What’s your name?” you asked as you led him down the hallway lined with lockers.  
“Tord,” he said. “And you’re Tom?”  
“Sadly.”  
He looked confused. “What? Sorry, I don’t know very many english.”  
“It’s a lot of english, not very many. And as for what I said...never mind. Let’s just get you to class.” You noticed with a twinge of annoyance that he was taller than you. He just nodded, and you wondered if he even understood what you just said as you approached his destination.  
“Here’s your stop,” you gestured to the algebra room, curious students now turning in their seats to see the new kid.  
“Oh,” said Tord. “Thank you.” He fixed his gray eyes on you, and you swore your heart beat faster. You silently turned away, still remembering the look of confusion on his face,  
That was 10 years ago, and 10 years later, you were packing up for a gig. University wasn’t an option for you, seeing as you let your grades slip. Music, however, you were good at, and you played at as many bars as you could to keep food on the table and alcohol in the fridge. You didn’t mind your job, even if the pay was inconsistent. Tonight you were going to a sportsbar to play. You always played solo, but you wished you had someone else to play with you. No one, however, could stand your attitude. You didn’t blame them, but you did blame yourself for not trying to be nicer. You needed a drummer.  
In highschool, you used have your ex boyfriend play the drums for you. The two of you actually sounded good together, as much as you hated to admit it. Almost as much as you hated him. If you ever saw that guy again, it would be too soon.  
Not half an hour later, you were pulling into the parking lot with your shitty beat up car. You stepped out, grabbing your bass and wallet. Since you were a regular, the bartender greeted you. You had some 20 minutes left before you played, so you ordered a glass of liquid courage and eyed the TV above your head to kill time. There was some sports game going on that had everyone pumped up. Suddenly, the screen switched to a news broadcast, with several people groaning in annoyance.  
“Breaking news. If you see this man, please call the police. He is armed, dangerous, and on the run. Anyone who has information about his whereabouts should call the police immediately.” You almost spit your drink out. The man on the TV had the left side of his face scarred, and wore a blue overcoat with ridiculously spiky hair. You would recognize him anywhere. Tord was on the wanted list. Again.


	2. Tord's pov

“Paul!” You yelled, slamming the door behind you. “Patryk!” Croatia was supposed to be safe. No one should have so much as suspected you to turn up there, but god fucking forbid you could stay undercover.  
“Yes, Sir!” Paul yelled from the other side of your luxurious hotel suite.   
“Get my car ready. We’re going to the airport.”   
“Sir, are you sure? The security will have been upped greatly.”  
“What about my boat? Is that still in Norway?”  
“Yes, but I’ll order it to be brought around, sir.”  
“Very well. Tell them I want it fast.” You didn’t know where you were going, or even how to get there. Before, it would have been easy to leave unnoticed. Hell, you weren’t even sure that the people in charge of your boat still wanted anything to do with you. It had all been going so well, and you’d gotten cocky in the process. You thought there had been no reason to worry. The Red Army was growing strong and seemed to be unbeatable. You were sure that you had the complete trust and loyalty of all your soldiers,  
That was, until they tried to bomb your office. The uprising had been going on for a while under the radar. They were sick of fighting, and sick of you. What should have been a manageable situation quickly spiraled out of control when you were ratted out to the police for accidentally killing your ex boyfriends neighbor. You had been wanted before, but no one knew your real name. Now they did, and Edd and his friends were more than happy to offer their details on you to the police.  
Like a coward, you ran. Norway should have been safe, but the police were now more aware of who you were. Croatia was a place no one expected you to go, and by going there, you should have bought yourself more time. Now all you had was Paul, Patryk, a gun, and hopefully a boat to get you the hell out of here.  
“Sir, the boat is coming. It will be here tomorrow.”  
“Are you serious?” You snapped. Paul sighed.  
“Yes, sir. The boat will pick you up at 11 pm tomorrow night and take you to South America.”  
You couldn’t wait that long. “I need to leave!” You protested.  
“I’ll see if they can come any faster, but I really don’t know…” he caught you glaring at him. “Sir.” He added, before turning on his heel to return to the bedroom.   
One more day. One more day, and you’d be out of Europe for good. This thought hardly soothed you at all. You got up and started pacing. When that became monotonous, you slumped on the bed. Your head hurt. One more day, you thought to yourself.  
You rolled onto your side and spied the mini fridge, hoping for some alcohol in there. There was no other way you could fall asleep. You stood up and walked over to the fridge, opening it. Fuck, only Smirnoff. If that drink didn’t trigger a memory, you didn’t know what would.  
It was your first day of highschool in England, and you had no friends and spoke little of the language. At lunchtime, you snuck out to behind the school. That’s what you would have done in Norway, and it felt normal to you to get out of the busy cafeteria.   
No one questioned your leaving. There was a huge football field and some metal bleachers in the back. You immediately felt at peace when you breathed in the fresh air.   
Someone was already on the bleachers. It was that punky kid with no eyes, which was pretty off putting to see. He was facing the other end of the field, sipping something out of a water bottle. You decided to be friendly.  
“Tom, right?”  
“Hmm?” He swung his head around to face you. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. And you’re…” His eyes narrowed as he tried to recall your name.  
“Tord.”  
“Yeah. Turd.” He snorted at his own joke.   
“Could I…?” You realized you didn’t know the word for sit. Tom just shrugged.   
“Go ahead, dude.” He took another swig. “It’s Smirnoff,” he explained when he saw you eyeing the bottle. No one drank water like that.  
“What’s that?”  
“Alcohol. Don’t they have that where you’re from?”  
You stared at him, confused. You understood maybe two words out of that whole sentence.  
“It gets you drunk?” He tried a different approach.  
“Not water.” You pointed to what he was drinking. Tom just laughed and held the bottle out to you. When he did this, he leaned closer, and you could smell alcohol on his breath.  
“No,” you said politely and gently pushed him away. For the record, you preferred smoking.   
“More for me.”   
“Tom, what class is next for you?”  
“Chem. Why?”  
“I have that too.”  
“I’ll walk you there.” You smiled, probably looking stupid.  
“Really?”  
“Sure, why not?”


	3. Tord's pov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some violence in this chapter near the end, hopefully it's not too graphic but I thought it was worth mentioning.

You dreamed of Tom again that night. Most nights, your sleep was peaceful, but you woke up sweating with the covers kicked of. You rolled over to see a bright light leaking in from the window. It made you narrow your eyes. What the hell was that?  
You stood on shaky legs and slowly made your way to the window. Unlatching it, the cool night air flowed in. It felt good on your face. A black car was outside, headlights pointing into your windows. Somewhere in the back of your groggy mind, gears started to turn, and you realized that the police could be in the vehicle. You slammed the window shut and whirled around, diving back under your covers like a little kid. As if that could save you.  
A loud creak behind you signified the door opening.  
“Red Leader, there is an unknown car outside. It would be best if we get a move on.” Paul’s voice floated through.  
“Where can we go?” Your voice sounded exhausted. And you were. You were tired of running, of always being on guard, of feeling afraid. You were in over your head and everyone knew it.  
“Patryk is getting the car started,” he said, deliberately avoiding your question.   
You sighed as Paul left. While pulling on your somewhat clean clothes and gathering up what few items you had, your mind was racing. Were you finally caught? Was it because you were careless? A monster? Hell, you sure looked like one ever since your robot got blown up by Tom. You hadn’t expected him to hate you like that after all this time had passed, but some wounds never heal. And Tom did hate everyone after all.  
You remembered a time in highschool, so insignificant you were surprised it had lodged itself into your memory.  
“Why don’t you like anyone?” You had asked Tom.   
“That’s not true. I like two people.” He was probably referring to his close friends Matt and Edd.  
“That is all?”  
“That’s all,” he responded.  
“Do you like me?” you asked.  
Tom gave you a sideways glance. “I don’t hate you,” he said slowly. “And that’s all you’ll get.”  
“Tom?”  
“What now.”  
“Edd says you’ve never dated anyone.”   
You imagined Tom would’ve rolled his eyes if he could at the mention of his green hoodie clad friend. “He hasn’t either, and it’s my personal business. Why do you care?”  
“I just wondered if it was correct, that’s all,” you said defensively.   
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re trying to make me ask you out.”  
Your face heated up. “No!” you squeaked. “No, I just...wanted to know! That’s all!”  
The other boy just laughed. “Oh man, I’ve never seen you this flustered.”  
You just glared at him. “I have to go to English.”  
“Aw, I didn’t know you were that upset,” he teased.  
“Tom, you are, you are such a-” you realized you didn’t know any insults in english. “Pickle.”   
He doubled up in laughter, nearly falling off his chair. “Holy shit!”  
Classic tupid Tom. Stupid, asshole Tom making fun of you when you didn’t know english very well. You stepped into the largest room of the suit. Paul was already there, waiting to escort you outside.   
“Patryk found us a ferry. It will take us to England.”  
“England? Don’t they want me there, too?” You asked, surprised.  
“It’ll get you out of Croatia for now until we can figure something out.”  
“What about the boat?”  
“Sir, it would still get here tomorrow and I think we need to get out, and fast.”  
“You’re just paranoid,” you snarled. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”  
“Pat and I are going now regardless,” he said in an icy tone.  
“What?” you had been so sure it wouldn’t have come to this. “Paul, you have to come with me. That is an order.”  
“Who are you kidding?” he snapped. “There’s no Red Army. We’ve been on the run for weeks!”  
“You can’t speak to me like that!” you snarled. “I’m your leader!”  
“Leader of what? Being delusional?”  
Rage took over you. You tried to slap him across the face. However, Paul was stronger and faster than you, and gripped in your wrist before you could hit him, nearly crushing it in his powerful hands. You shouldn’t have trained him so well.  
“I’m getting in the car, and I advise you do to,” he said curtly before letting you go. You rubbed your wrist as you watched him leave. Fucking great. You don’t know what compelled you to do so, but you followed him down the stairs to the car.  
Patryk was mostly silent the whole ride, focused on navigating through the velvety darkness. The boarding of the boat went smoothly, and you managed to fall asleep during the ride.  
You woke when it was light out, feeling stiff from sleeping sitting up. Paul and Patryk were talking in hushed tones.  
“Are we there?” you asked, startling both of them.  
“Not yet. Almost.”  
You nodded and leaned your head back on the side of the car. You needed water.   
Half an hour later, the car rolled onto solid land. You didn’t where to even go at this point. Patryk just navigated through the winding roads and passed small towns while you looked out the window.  
All hell broke loose once you reached the city. Shocking you, a loud siren cut through the air, and you saw blue lights flashing.   
“Drive faster!” you snapped.  
“I can’t!” Patryk yelled. “These roads are too curvy and narrow, I’ll hit something!” The police car was approaching, hot on your tail. Suddenly, the car swerved off the road and into the sidewalk. The pedestrians screamed and ran away. You were dimly aware of something bleeding and pain blossoming on your side. You couldn’t stay here and lick your wounds.  
Clumsily, you opened the door and began to sprint down the street. Stupid. The car would overtake you any minute now. You spied an alleyway too small for the vehicle across the street. If you survived crossing the road, you could hide there. With one final surge of energy, you ran. And then something solid hit you. You screamed and tears filled your eyes as you collapsed, hot asphalt stinging your cheek. The police car had ran over your legs, and fuck, it burned. Another car had smashed into the first vehicle, earning you some time.  
Painfully, you pulled your broken body across the road. You couldn’t even stand, just crawl on your hands and knees. Most of the damage was accumulated on your lower legs, and there was still the results from the first crash on your ribs. Your vision flickered in and out as you sobbed louder, collapsing a couple times more but picking yourself up. Eventually, after your agonizing journey, you reached the alley way and lay down near some trash barrels. You weren’t sure how long it had taken. It could have been seconds, or hours. Where the hell were the police? Did they leave? No. They couldn’t have given up that easy. Everything felt like it was on fire and you fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long! I was in the mock trial playoffs and that took up a lot of time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi kids sorry I haven't updated in so long this chapter was hard to write and I still don't feel great about it but whatever :/ this does a little graphic and bloody at the end. Also don't drive drunk! Bad idea.

“Thank you, and goodnight!” you yelled to the roaring crowd. The bar had loved your latest performance, and you were glad about that. It meant more tips and a warm welcome next time you wanted to play here. You turned on your heel and exited, vanishing behind the thick blue curtains on the stage.

Humming to yourself, you packed up your bass and got ready to leave. You were still a little buzzed from drinking earlier in the day. Trudging out to your car, you reminisced about how far you had come with your career. You used to play in your garage for anyone who would listen, singing and playing Panic! At The Disco songs. Sometimes Edd would come and tap on the drums a little, but he was never into music the way you were. Matt never turned up, always training for his next horse show or looking at himself in a mirror. And then there was that other kid. The one you played with the most, the one you played at your first gig with.

It started when you were left in the band room at lunch. The lunch schedule worked in a way that forced you to eat without Matt and Edd twice or so a week, and you could almost always be found strumming away on your bass. Usually you had the room to yourself. That is, until one Wednesday when Tord stuck his head in. 

“You’re good at music,” he observed. You shrugged. 

“It’s not hard or anything.”

“No, it is.” He wandered closer to you. You were sitting on a chair, holding your bass. “In Norway I used to play the drums,” he offered.

“Exciting,” you said in a deadpan tone.

Tord looked away, blushing. Fuck. You must have sounded too disinterested in him.

“Hey, I didn’t mean… look. Why don’t you play the stupid drums for me?”

The norski’s face lit up, and he scrambled to the set of drums in the corner. Tord was interesting to watch. Immediately he focused in on what he was doing, gray eyes focused on the instrument as he stuck his tongue out. His hands carefully held the drumsticks as they danced from drum to drum, never dropping the beat, and fuck, it was the first time he really looked gorgeous. Your stomach shouldn’t have fluttered, but it did.

“You’re not half bad.” Tord just blushed again. 

“I’m a little out of practice,” he admitted.

“It didn’t sound like it.” Your empty gaze met his gray one. “You can play with me anytime.” Thus began the era of you and Tord practicing together. You liked rock and alternative, and he, surprisingly, liked indie. Lana Del Rey was his favorite. The two of you compromised, and as a result, grew closer together. Close enough that he came over and played in your garage. 

“What is we started a band?” you suggested one day.

“Well I’m assuming it would just be the two of us,” Tord replied. “We’d need a name.” You never could figure one out permanently. That was the way it was with him.

Back in the present time, you got home. You wrestled with your locked door a little before stumbling in and immediately going to your bed.   
The next morning, you woke up with a pounded headache. Hangovers were the worst. The sun shone too bright in your eyes and every part of your body ached. Still, you had to get up.

You rolled out of bed and into the kitchen, finding a bottle of beer in your fridge. A breakfast of champions. While chugging it, you mulled over your plans for the day. Hadn’t Matt said something about coming to his apartment? You didn’t remember. And when was the last time you’d called Edd? You couldn’t remember that either. Maybe you should go back to bed.

The phone rang. Funnily enough, it was Edd.

“What.”

“Hey Tom, I was wondering if you could actually feed Ringo today?”

 

“First of all, why, and secondly, why can’t Matt do it? He’s the animal whisperer.”

“I’m not home. I’m in Nottingham for that animation conference, remember?”

“No,” you sighed, drumming your fingers on the table.

“Matt backed out at the last minute, and someone has to feed my cat!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes to the best of your efforts. “You owe me.”

“It’s only for today. And don’t forget to give him his dinner and tell him that I love him!”

“Bye, Edd.” You hung up the phone before he could rant about his love for the feline. Next, you changed clothes. You put on skinny jeans, a black shirt, a blue plaid jacket, and your checkered vans. You even ran a brush through your messy hair a couple times. Perfect.

You exited your house, the booze starting to kick in. You drived to Edd’s apartment, every bump in the road hurting your head. Edd’s place was one of the apartments in the nicer part of town. You and Matt both lived in a complex in a dirtier area, but it didn’t bother you. Paying bills on that would be too much money. The sidewalks here weren’t cracked, you noticed. There were trees planted in patches of dirt. The air seemed warmer here, and the sun seemed to shine brighter. Or maybe you were drunk.

The only thing that looked dirty around here was the alleyway next to the apartment. It was dark, shady, and filled with dumpsters. And something else. Something dark blue. Whatever, you thought, it’s probably someone’s old clothes they threw out. Hell if you cared. 

At least Ringo was excited to see you. When you opened the door, he ran to you purring and began to weave between your legs. You had a hard time not tripping on him. When he actually let you walk, you fed him the disgusting cat slop. It was rancid. Thankfully, all you had to do was feed and you quickly left. Your head felt fuzzy and full of cotton. Drinking wasn’t good for you, sure, but it was all you could count on. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that blue thing in the alley again. Squinting, you could see it was some kind of fabric. It almost looked multicolored, as patches of it seemed darker. They looked almost wet. You stepped closer, curiosity now peaked. 

The thing wasn’t a thing at all. It was a person, rather. You could see fluffy hazel hair. The blue you had seen originally was actually a trenchcoat, and the wet stuff was probably blood. Doing what any good drunk passerby would, you kneeled next to the person and asked, “are you ok?” No response. “Hello?” you shook its shoulder and drew away quickly when you felt blood. God, you hated blood. It made you want to throw up.

You rolled the person onto its back from its side. Half of the face was scarred pretty painfully, and its left arm was replaced with a red metallic one. The person was taking quick, shallow breaths, and you had to get them out of here. If you were sober, you would have called the ambulance. But since you weren’t, your drunken mind stumbled over itself, trying to make sense of the situation. You could put them in your apartment! That idea made the most sense to you, since you could care for whoever this was when they woke up, and then tell Edd. Edd could always fix a situation.

You put your arms under the wounded person’s arms and dragged them to your car. This should have aroused suspicion, but no one seemed to be around in the boring part of the city that only held apartments. You threw the person in the back and drove him, pleased that you had saved someone’s life. Little did you know that someone was from your past, and if you had been sober, you wouldn’t have even considered bringing them to your apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
Tord’s pov

“If you get lonely, think of me only  
Prison isn’t going to keep me from you  
Remember Coney Island and how we'd  
Wade into the water ’til the waves turned blue,”

Tom’s voice was smoother than silk, especially when he sang one of your favorite songs. You were sitting behind the drumset you had laboriously dragged into Tom’s garage for your weekly practice. The two of you had started playing together outside of school a couple of weeks ago. He was an excellent singer and bass player, and you felt that at times you could barely keep up.

“You’re playing off key,” you commented.

“How would you know?” Tom retorted. Though he faced away from you, you could imagine him rolling his eyes. You’d never known anyone with eyes like his. They looked to be a deep purple to you, and while others saw them as empty, you found galaxies in them. Tom was… unique. He was angry, brash, yet determined and smart. While the majority of your classmates found him unsettling, you saw him as intriguing and new, some kind of raw and unshakeable. You understood him, in a way. He was sad down to his very core, but you were too.

“Hey! Earth to Tord!”

“Huh?” you asked, being jolted out of your thoughts. Tom had turned towards you. His smile was dazzling. “I was thinking.”

“Really? Because it looked to me like you were spacing out.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me to drink.”

“Where?”

“The forest behind my house.”

“Let me get a cigar.”

25 minutes later, you were surrounded by thick, shady, woods. Tom was sitting on a log, sipping something alcoholic from his silver flask. You were next to him, smoking one of those almost comically large cuban cigars.

“Did you have a girlfriend back in Norway?” Tom broke the silence.

“Why does it matter?” Your tone came out harsher than you expected it to.

“You don’t need to get so defensive. I just asked a question.”

There was a lull in the conversation. You pretended to be interested in your surroundings and the feeling of smoke flooding your lungs. “No,” you said finally.

“Why?” Admittedly, you almost snapped at him for a second time. Why did he care so much?

“Why do you think? I wasn’t wanted.” The silence returned, this time uncomfortable.

“I don’t think that.” Tom turned to you.

“Oh yeah?” You mused, drawing in the dirt with a stick. It felt too intimate to meet his gaze.

“Yeah. You’re not…” he trailed off. “Me.”

“What do you mean?” This time, you did look at him. He was drunk.

“I’m not good, Tord.” Tears started to form in his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m never happy, am I? All I do is drink and people think that’s fucked up and that I’m the town’s next useless alcoholic.” His voice began to choke up.

“Tom,” you said softly, “do you really believe that?” He just sniffled and didn’t answer. “You’re just… unique.”

“Yeah, some sort of outcast.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said softly. “I meant that you’re complex. Vibrant.”

“Too much to love.”

 

“Someone will love you. Everyone gets to be loved.”

“I don’t need love. Love’s fucking stupid. You know what happens to people that fall in love? They become vulnerable. It’s all fine and dandy until someone leaves, or you fall out of love, or they find someone else and you’re worse off than you were before.” At this point he was sobbing, body shaking.

“Shhhhh,” you mumbled, and awkwardly wrapped your arms around him in the spur of the moment. Your face turned redder than a tomato when he pushed his face into your chest, gripping your black hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Cautiously, you stroked his hair. It was softer than you had thought it would be. 

Honestly, you were surprised that he was showing any weakness.Tom had always seemed so… tough. He didn’t seem to care about anyone or anything, but now you realized he did. No one was ever as tough as they seemed.

“Tom.You deserve love. You deserve the purest love this world has to offer. I know you’ve been through some things that led you down this path, but I don’t think the drinking makes you a bad person.” For a long time no one spoke.

“It doesn’t make me a good one.” His voice was muffled by your sweatshirt.

“Good is subjective.” It got quiet after that. At some point Tom had stopped sobbing and moved his head from your chest to your shoulder. You stroked his arm, feeling tense. It was intimate. Too intimate, in a way that ached in your chest, a way you shouldn’t feel about your friend.

You woke with start. Your dreams - more like flashbacks at this point - had been more and more centered around Tom these days, and you didn’t know why. Right now you had bigger problems, one of them being you were panicking. Where the hell were you? This room was a gray blue. Large, opened, windows were at the front of it, opened, cream colored curtains blowing in the breeze. You were laying on a beat up leather couch that had parts of it taped up. There was a silent tv on some sort of wooden table with a newspaper and a collection of empty bottles under it. And in the middle of it all lay Tom, passed out on the floor. It was enough to almost make you throw up.

Breathe, Larsinn, you thought. There had to be a logical reason as to why you were stuck here. What was the last thing you could remember? The crash. Right. The crash and the searing pain as you dragged your broken body across the street. But where had Paul and Patryk gone? 

Perhaps, this could be their doing. You were wanted practically all over the world, and so they would have to hide you somewhere while they went to find someone to help that wouldn’t rat you out. But why leave you with Tom? He hated you and everything you stood for. Because he was too drunk to care? It didn’t make sense. You had to get the hell out of here. And go where? Nowhere was safe. No one was coming to save you.

If Tom woke up… well, he would probably be just as shocked as you were. He would call the police, or something else awful that made you sick because you couldn’t run away.

And that was when the door banged open. “Tom!” someone yelled. It was Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic feels so cliche and overdone and every time I try to make it stand out more it just feels worse :P Anyway I got a tumblr! It's Maxumsurprise please follow me for more trash


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